


Just One Dance

by laEsmeralda



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: The night before Bob goes to the nick, a best friend realizes what's best.
Relationships: Handsome Bob/One Two (RocknRolla)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Just One Dance

He felt a sense of hilarity, of surrealism, as he caught himself about to go round and put Bob in the Ranger like a girl. Bob wasn’t a girl, decidedly. 

It was the dancing had done it. Always before thinking of Bob as robust, if a bit shorter; not at any rate thinking of him as someone easily contained within One Two’s embrace—no time to have noticed that in the quick, chest-to-chest-bump-with-back-slaps of the past. Certainly not to have kenned a person with scented shampoo detectable under perspiration and a few overwrought tears.

Maybe these were just things he had chosen to notice on the club floor to convince himself that Bob was like a girl, so it was okay. Okay that embarrassed as he was, he didn’t mind the holding, that he wouldn’t come to blows over the straying hand, that he gently moved it up his back not wanting to move it entirely away. 

He pulled open his own door and got behind the wheel. Funny that he almost always drove off-clock even though Bob was The Driver. Maybe Bob got the fill of driving at work. Or maybe he always loved driving. One Two’d never asked, just got behind the wheel himself after a job had been showered off them both.

It came back to him, as he settled the seat belt, that he’d actually asked what Bob had wanted to do to him. He flushed at the recollection of mixed-up fading rage, curiosity, and eagerness in his own question. 

“Oi, ‘m I spending my last hours of my last free night sitting by the curb in this—admittedly fine—ride of yours?” Bob joshed him.

“I’m only at a bit of a loss as to how to top that turn about the dance floor,” he replied, dryly and with immediate regret. Regret that he called attention to the dancing again, that Bob had left him a fine out and he missed the exit, and that he’d set up a terrible opportunity. 

Bob didn’t take it. “A drink someplace we’d never go. You know, one shot sets me back 60 quid. We can afford it, mate, this once.”

“Absolutely,” One Two grinned, grateful for the untangling, simple thought of a single-malt served in a such a glass and in an atmosphere so posh that somehow justified charging as much for two fingers as for a whole bottle from the Bunch’s finest shop. He almost said that last bit aloud, and flashed on sharing his couch and a bottle with Bob. That could go no place he could explain tomorrow.

He pulled into valet at the Connaught. Bob’s eyes widened. “Last night out for a bit,” One Two explained, holding up a finger. “I won’t hear a word.” He tipped in advance and passed up the signature bar all in white for the Coburg; new, elegant, comfortable, more somber in dark gray.

“Not really dressed,” Bob murmured as they entered the bar.

“Look around.” One Two smiled at him. “Rich women dress. Rich men dress as they please.” He had installed himself on a small sofa the color of butterscotch before realizing his misstep. Bob took the other end, which really meant they were sitting quite next to one another.

Halfway into his Laphroaig 31, he felt far less uptight. He remembered that the steady, good-natured, quiet best friend sitting six inches near was going away to the nick. Handsome Bob. Not a good candidate for an easy stint. Tough enough, but the kind that attracts a gang of muscle to separate him from his dignity on a regular schedule. Not that Bob would apparently mind. One Two sipped again and flinched at himself. Jesus that was a heartless thought. Of course, Bob would mind. Poufs—wait, gays, he corrected himself, want to have the pick and all just like anybody else. No one wants to go down that road unwilling. Suddenly, the surprise confession, the “just one dance,”… it made more sense. Something safe and normal before closing off. One Two shuddered.

Bob had chosen The Macallan 25 and seemed disposed to contemplate it. One Two wondered if their minds had converged on a point. It wasn’t a point that bore long study. He elbowed Bob. “We’ll keep your place up. Got that share tucked away safe for you. Anything happens to me, Mumbles…” he stopped speaking at the look on Bob’s face. Swallowed. “Not that anything will happen.”

In the Ranger, on the way to drop Bob off home, the silence spread. “Missed the turn,” Bob said, the only thing he had said since the car doors shut, and he was right.

“Huh.” One Two kept going straight on a quarter mile further to the street space for which he paid exorbitantly. He put the car in park. Looked ahead and not at Bob. “Guess you better come up.” He got out without waiting for a response and shut the door firmly. There was another quiet moment before the passenger door opened.

They went up as they had hundreds of times before at all hours. One Two had never thought or given a fuck before as to what the neighbors might be thinking.

With the door closed behind, lights on, Bob turned to One Two from halfway into the living room. “Not interested in a mercy round,” he said. “At all.” His hand made the sharp, level gesture of refusal.

“I’m not a merciful man.” One Two had a sweat going, quiet under his clothes, the kind of fear and anticipation that sometimes rode him before a heist.

Bob grinned, nervously. “We both know that to be a lie, though it’s best our enemies don’t know it. Listen, you know I want to stay, like nothing I’ve wanted in a long time. But I want you to look forward to me getting out and I want you to still be my mate when I do.” Bob shoved his hands in his pockets and went to peer out the window.

One Two fell quiet for a long ten seconds. “Let’s say, hypothetically speaking, that this is about me, not you. A thought that’s entirely fresh to my mind today and not anything approaching fine or comfortable. But a thought.” And a stirring in the lowest pit of his belly. He saw it then, wondered if it had ever happened before, saw Bob’s greenblue eyes flick to check his trousers before they returned, incredulous, to his face. An unstoppable reflex, he suspected. He felt his own response, as if that glance had been the brazen check of a beautiful woman. Another unstoppable reflex, he proffered to his sense of masculine outrage.

“I’m such a git,” Bob said and closed the distance. He ripped One Two’s shirt open and over his leather jacket, forcing both garments down and off. “Never make a man explain.” He bit him high on the chest, moderately, nipping several times before One Two’s hands gripped Bob’s elbows.

“Not fair,” he hissed.

Bob frowned. “How d’you expect me not to know what I know?”

One Two queried the ceiling, sucking in a long breath. “Right.” He started to look to the window, to satisfy himself that the blinds were closed, but the teeth working their way toward his left tit stopped him cold. He looked down and was treated to the view of plush lips sliding over his nipple just before the sensation registered in his balls. It was strong and deep and made him push back on Bob’s biceps because Bob wasn’t a petite owner of modest-rack-and-fine-big-ass that ought to be making his cock hard this way. A cock that was suddenly grasped through trousers by a strong, big hand that didn’t apologize and was governed by a deft wrist. He set his teeth on edge, resisting the inexplicable desire to come right there, fast and dirty and totally wrong. “Stop, stop it,” he said, tightly, his fingers digging in enough to bruise.

Bob released him instantly, took a step back, hands open in surrender. It took One Two another couple of seconds to let go of Bob’s upper arms. Bob ran nervous hands over his scalp. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Again. Sorry.”

“You stupid bastard,” One Two said, exasperated. “I stopped you from making me shoot in my fuckin’ alans.” The cursing made him feel instantly better.

A slow grin of increasingly bad intentions spread over Bob’s ordinarily guileless face. “That’s hot.”

“You have too damn much inside information. You gotta slow down.” One Two scrubbed at his stubble. “I haven’t even… haven’t…”

“What?” Bob prodded. “Every play you already know pretty much applies on my team.”

“What I mean is that I haven’t done anything for you yet. I grabbed your arms is all,” he shrugged, embarrassed. 

“Don’t care,” Bob replied. “I’d go to the nick a happy man just to feel you spaff in my grip.”

Another deep ball twinge at that. “Nobody I invite up leaves unsatisfied,” growled One Two, not caring that men didn’t count for that rule. Bobby boy counted. He racked his brain for the odd story picked up here or there. Bob didn’t spill much information himself. He realized that mostly he’d heard how great Bob was from birds—what they said he liked, what he did to them, how crazy he was in bed. They all said he was a helluva kisser. One Two couldn’t do that with Bob. Just couldn’t. “’Mere,” he ordered, grabbing Bob’s shoulder and hauling him to the bedroom. It made him feel better to take action, to have a plan. He unbuckled as he walked, kicking off his shoes.

He spun Bob at the foot of the bed and did him the courtesy of not ruining _his_ shirt. He caught a slide-by of Bob’s eyes even though he was avoiding them, and the size of his pupils communicated something primal. Something dominant. Motionless under his hands, not guiding or requesting, Bob still looked predatory. One Two shifted back to following his plan, not liking to think how that look made his pulse hammer. 

Bob’s chest was smooth, with a bit of flat-laying, silky brown hair in the very middle. It was perfectly familiar, each tattoo in its known place, each scar. One Two felt himself bend and start to lick those signs of familiarity, one by one, as though he were a loyal dog trying to heal wounds. He was replied to with a breathy, “Oh,” two very gentle hands on the back of his head, and a great deal of heavy breathing. He used his bigger body to nudge Bob back until he had to recline, until One Two was above him, still licking, and then having to pause because some of the tattoos extended below the trousers, which he set about unzipping without allowing himself to stop and think.

When Bob flipped him, it was of course because One Two was off balance trying to cope with the zipper. How exactly his own trousers came off, he couldn’t say, because Bob was also pumping his cock and looking at it in a way that made it impossible to pay attention to anything else. He bit down on a groan; somehow, not making noise made it less real, but when he found himself slid into that hot, enthusiastic mouth and had to shut his eyes, he couldn’t be certain of the silence. After a minute or so of lost time, Bob paused and One Two heaved for breath and control. His right hand slid out and found a trousered thigh, followed the seam away from his face until he felt the soft give of balls, gentled his hand on past and then gripped, solidly. He half-sat then, left elbow braced. “Jesus.” Couldn’t help himself.

“What,” Bob said, losing his own grip, startled.

“What in the hellfire…” He sat up all the way and went to work wrestling Bob’s khakis down to mid-thigh. “… is that?”

Chuckling at last, Bob replied, “John Thomas. You’re well-acquainted.”

“Oh, no, that’s a stranger, there,” One Two replied, astonished. Bob was quiet, nondescript, and so was his adequate no-butt-of-jokes equipment exposed in many a shower, heist quick change, and cursory strip search. But this, this was beyond ordinary manly. And now, One Two had called attention to himself noticing and being all surprised. Couldn’t be more awkward, really.

“And the problem would be…”

“How’s that going in my mouth? Anyone’s really?” One Two couldn’t seem to control his words.

Bob’s eyes darkened again in that scary, enticing way. “I can’t tell you how fucking marvelous it is to hear you thinking of it. But there’s no need.” And with that, he went back to sucking One Two within an inch of tolerance. 

He was getting absolutely the most brilliant blow he’d ever had. Made him sad for what he’d felt grateful for before, women paid enough or kind enough to provide a service. This was wanted as much by the giver as the getter. One Two fell back and reached again, this time encircling naked flesh. He squeezed about as hard as he gauged he’d squeeze himself, though the way around was further. Bob moaned, which had other interesting benefits. One Two stroked, and his hand got wet, slick. He rolled a fraction toward being on his side, got his other hand into the party. A well-timed view of cock always felt good watching porno, but it had seemed to go without saying that it was the pounding of pussy the cock was doing that was interesting. And he liked to look at his own in action of any sort. Who didn’t? Bob’s cock was fascinatingly tight, dark and shiny, and One Two felt its responsive twitches in his own, which might have something to do with the mouth at work.

“Ah, fuck it,” he said, and licked the slippery head. Vaguely salty. No problem. Bob’s hips shuddered. One Two decided to limit himself to putting the whole, fat head in his mouth keeping the rest of the animal at bay with a fist-collar while he sucked. That caused a lot more groaning and shuddering. And then Bob had a hand on his hip, urging him to thrust, and he did a little, testing. It was blindingly good. A dozen or so short thrusts later, he was shooting, gloriously long and hard, his mouth still full. 

He rolled onto his back, out of the resulting blackness. “Sorry,” he mumbled, aware distantly of having abandoned his post. There was rustling off to one side. Then, Bob’s shape reformed itself the other way around, so he was looking into his friend’s face. 

Bob was flushed and he wore a rakish half-smile. “Nah, ‘s what I was after.” He grinned, then and wriggled his eyebrows. “Got a bonus too. Nice mouth.”

One Two punched his shoulder. “I wasn’t finished. I do understand the value of a job properly done.”

The eyes above him were a deep-sea green now. “Oh, you can finish it. But you’re not sucking me off. I gotta have something to look forward to at the end of the stint,” he said, humor rich in his voice and a half-flinch like he expected to get smacked.

One Two wiped the grin off by grabbing Bob’s cock again. He knew he was being spared a perceived indignity. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be spared, and wondered if that particular single-malt had been casked by a conspiracy of poufs. But he didn’t argue. It was a lot of surprise for one night as things stood.

“Friendly wank, then?” Made it sound routine. They never had. He wasn’t a circle jerk sort and didn’t think Bob was either.

Bob touched low on One Two’s belly and slid a hand slowly up to chin-scruff. “If we’re pretending it’s Christmas, I want to stroke off on the crack of that cheeky ass you flashed us the other day.”

One Two swallowed hard. Which reminded him that Bob had swallowed. At least he didn’t have to ask how this worked. He nodded brusquely. “Can do.” He started to roll, but a hand on his shoulder checked him.

“If you don’t mind…” Bob said by way of wholly inadequate explanation.

One Two relaxed back and submitted to the long, slow caress of callused hands tracing his edges. He shut his eyes and after a few long moments of tension, enjoyed it. Bob ruffled hair up the midline with his fingers, and then nuzzled along, ending up with his face in One Two’s underarm. When Bob did roll him, he went easy, and sighed to the lazy rhythm when it renewed along his back. Bob slid a little closer to reach all the way up One Two’s back, and his cock bumped a thigh, backed off, then pressed in. A soft outlet of pent-up breath attested to the pleasure of just that, which gave One Two a spark of sympathetic wanting. He could understand savoring, and he could also understand that point at which savoring gave way to hunger. Bob was there. One Two was holding his breath, anticipating.

In a rush of movement, Bob was atop him, straddling, his hard-on settling itself, hands and corded forearms appearing by either shoulder. The left forearm bore a scar Bob had acquired blocking a knife that would have taken One Two’s throat. One Two focused on that, on the grateful memory of that. He felt Bob’s breath against his neck. There was nothing abhorrent about this. He felt no revelation that women weren’t for him, no desire to have his asshole pounded by the prodigious equipment of his best mate. He felt the same love, looking at that scar, that he always felt. The desire to preserve something precious, to protect it. 

The breath rasped harder against his neck as Bob rocked his hips. Slick, everything seemed to have gone slick between him and Bob, and One Two felt the dick equivalent of a Pavlovian response himself, precome-equals-pleasure. Just like seeing it happen in a porno made it happen for him. He flexed his hips, discovering his full recovery and grinding it into the comforter. Not having thought it through, he didn’t think about the way his ass cheeks gripped pipe and tugged it when he did that. Bob reacted with a sharp gasp and thrust back. 

How everything ought to work in the world didn’t matter a fig or a fuck. One Two was hot for that sound, for that feel of sliding fat cock pressing his own self down and against the bedding. He realized Bob thought he had done it on purpose, that he was teasing him along. That was even hotter. He did it again, on purpose. It occurred to him that he liked it when a girl grabbed his ass while he was fucking her, that he liked it even better if she ran her fingers up and down that channel to his tailbone. Bob’s softest skin was rubbing him there, over and over. He bit his lip, determined not to turn this feeling into sound effects.

And then Bob was licking sweat from the nape of One Two’s neck, fucking hard, not waiting for return thrusts. The scar had gone bright white. One Two could feel himself gaining altitude, caught himself paying attention to the feel of Bob’s balls, tight and silky, the extra-hard base of his cock digging in, the sliding shaft, the underside of the head stroking wetly. Bob’s thighs squeezed him, forearms hugged him, he could hardly move and didn’t have to. 

“Oh fuck, oh,” Bob whispered in a strained way that One Two knew was a noble attempt not to be yelling for the neighbors to hear, and Bob went to double-time until he came hotly all over the small of One Two’s back. One Two could feel every squirt from where it started until it hit his own skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, the deep throb in his cock practically begging, “wait for me,” but the movement slowed and stopped before he could come. 

A few moments of panting, though, and Bob pulled off and rolled him back over, exposing him. “Ah, God, Frazier,” was all Bob said and then he was sucking him again. This time, One Two didn’t think at all, he spread his legs because it gave Bob better access, he grabbed Bob’s head and stroked his hair because somehow it made all the sensations better, when Bob rubbed behind his balls, he arched his back in response, and when he came, he had no idea what he said or how loudly, he just rode it out to the exhausted, wrung out end.

“Hey.” 

He opened his eyes. Bob was standing there, looking down at him, pulling his shirt on. “Hey,” he replied, and a smile snuck out. Guy couldn’t feel that good and not smile about it.

“I gotta go—court’s early.” Bob’s eyes were clear, steady. “Rather you not sit in. I might lose my composure.”

“Alright,” One Two said, knowing the absolute piss he’d take from the bunch for not being there. “If that’s what you want, but…” he faltered.

Bob held up a hand. “If they ask, if any of ‘em ask—“

“Why would they?” One Two interrupted.

Bob headed to the door. He looked back over his shoulder, hand on the doorknob. “Believe me, my friend, you _are_ the very last to know.” He smiled ruefully. “See you in five.” And then he was gone.  
*******


End file.
